Side chord
by wyoluvr
Summary: Harry's a moron but his friends aren't.


Title: Side chord  
Author: Criss Moody wyoluvr@yahoo.com  
Date: November 1st, 2002  
Distribution: Please ask.  
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns them. I really, really don't.  
Summary: Harry's a moron but his friends aren't.  
Rating: PG-13  
Notes: Based off the following improv words from zahra:   
side - An incomplete script that shows the lines and cues of a single performer only.  
chord - A combination of three or more pitches sounded simultaneously.  
Rabbit betaed and she's a lovely woman.

Harry fends off Ron with his right hand and Hermione with his left. That's how he practices it in his head. No, no, nothing to see here, he's fine, just feeling a bit tired, go off the stupid dance in your stupid dress robes, he'll just sit in the common room tripping over Creeveys.  
  
Throwing books onto his bed, Harry curses as he trips on his comforter and goes flying across the bed. He lands hard on the far side of the mattress. His chin hits the floor and as stars loop around his vision, he sighs.  
  
Four words, entirely meaningless alone, put together have driven Harry into a acting like someone just killed Hedwig. Or kicked his broom. He'd put the wrong amount of lavender into his Wake Up spell three times in a row and it exploded, making the entire class really hyper and Snape more sour than usual.   
  
All because when Ron offhandedly said, "Hey, 'Mione, got a date for that thing in Hogsmeade next weekend?," Hermione, her eyes skimming her History homework as they walked to class, replied, "No. Shall we go?" Ron grunted an affirmative. Harry spent the entire class awake for once, but it didn't do him any good. Instead of thinking about Wizarding history, he can only think about his best friends betraying him.  
  
Right, he could be blowing this into something it isn't. Or Ron could have meant, yeah, we should all go to this stupid dance thing. Only he hadn't, he spoke to Hermione and not to Harry and could Harry be any more like a girl?   
  
If he could only convince himself that it was all innocent. He isn't being left behind by his best friends, they haven't been snogging behind his back, and he won't be left alone with an owl as company for the rest of time.   
  
Harry wiggles backwards a bit to get his balance and flops on to his bed. Dreaming vague soft dreams about Cho is easy. He misses being 14 and blushing when she smiled at him. But really, girls are nice and all, they smell good, they feel good, but they're all pretty boring. Even the ones who like Quidditch get insulted when you don't notice a new hairstyle or a new robe.   
  
Harry's found that he much prefers Hermione to girls. She's a girl, yeah, but she's smart and doesn't go all crazy if no one complements her eyes or something cracked like that. Aside from the brief, better forgotten incident with Krum their Fourth Year, Hermione never wanted to be more than she was. She doesn't need frippery and complements. That's the kind of girl Harry wants.  
  
The kind of girl Ron's got, apparently.   
  
Harry smashes his hand over his face, trying to rub out the thoughts of Ron taking Hermione's hand. Kissing her. Doing other things he'd prefer not to think about Hermione doing with Ron.  
  
And what about Ron? Wasn't there some kind of unspoken male code about this? Harry thought Ron understood. Hermione is theirs, no one else gets to snog her, dammit, but they didn't get her that way either. Seems a bit complex to Harry.   
  
He's a git. Harry knows, but would really like to pretend he's not seeing this realization bloom in his body like a bad case of gas. He's been stomping around, muttering in monosyllables whenever Ron or Hermione try to talk to him, and he's got to stop.   
  
Hermione isn't his. Harry swallows and tries to breathe slowly.  
  
Ron can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. Harry feels a whimper push through his throat.  
  
Hermione doesn't like boys like Ron. Or Harry for that matter. She's too intelligent for either of them and someday she'd leave them all far behind, but not now. Who knows, maybe she's a lesbian, but Harry doesn't like that anymore than her being into Ron.   
  
Ron is supposed to like pretty girls who don't like him. Sometimes he gets a little snogging in with rough voiced boys who don't care that he's the youngest Weasley. Harry's not sure that Ron knows he knows. But he does and when Ron comes into their wing, flushed, his face scraped up, grinning, Harry never says anything, but they always exchange a smile that says 'I know you know and that's okay'.  
  
But it's not okay for Ron and Hermione to go to a dance as a couple. It's not okay for them to be a couple. It's not even within the realm of not entirely bad for them to be anything more than Harry Potter's best friends and now Harry's utterly sure that he's lost his mind. He's not clear when he became an arrogant prick but that's the way his thoughts are headed.  
  
It has to stop.  
  
Harry has his hand on the doorknob when he hears voices in the common room. The door creaks open a bit and Harry peers through. He sees two familiar heads and freezes in place.   
  
"What stick does Harry have up his ass now? I mean, honestly, first he pretends he doesn't notice that I've been snogging boys, well just the one, and now he's gone nutters for no apparent reason."  
  
"He's male. I've decided none of you need reasons. You're all mad."  
  
"Ouch, 'Mione, that hurt."  
  
"Good. I'm not sure what set him off. He hasn't said anything to you?"  
  
"Not a word. Literally. Maybe he thinks I'm going to step on his toes? Or that you'll look prettier than he will? Who knows?"  
  
Harry's world takes a spin dive into the floor and Harry winces at the sound of somebody's head smacking against wood. Oh, that would be his head. As he gingerly feels for blood, he sees two sets of legs race up the steps towards him.  
  
"Er, hello."   
  
Hermione's head lowers into his view.  
  
"Harry?."  
  
It goes without saying that Harry feels like a moron.   
  
"Sorry, I wasn't? I didn't mean to?look, I'm sorry. I'm a moron."  
  
Ron slides down against the wall next to Harry. Harry ignores the way the doorframe is digging into his back because Ron has his hand on his knee. It's warm and really rather nice. Until Hermione starts prying his eyelids open, anyway.  
  
He swats at her hands. She holds his hands together with one hand while using the other to keep his eyelids open.  
  
"Keep still. I'm checking for a concussion."  
  
"I don't have a concussion, honestly, I'm fine."  
  
Hermione smiles. Widely.   
  
"Good." She says and thwacks him upside the head before sitting on Harry's other side.  
  
"Don't brain damage him. He gets hit in the head enough without you helping." Ron ruffles Harry's hair and grins.  
  
"Harry, why have you been so grumpy lately?"   
  
Suddenly, Harry really really doesn't want to say. Or even think about it anymore. Ron's hand has started to trace patterns on his knee and Hermione's staring intently at Harry's face. Or perhaps just his lips.  
  
"Er?I sort of though, well, it's silly, really, but I thought?"  
  
"That Ron and I were shagging like mad and you didn't like it a bit?"  
  
Harry bites his lip. Smart girl.  
  
"More or less."  
  
"You really are a moron." Hermione shakes her head. Takes Harry's left hand in hers. They sit in silence for a few minutes. Harry takes inventory on himself. The head aches a bit but he'll be alright. Everything else is warm and right and a little bit fluffily sweet.  
When Ron picks up Harry's right hand, rubbing his fingers over Harry's knuckles, the sweet factor skyrockets. Harry thinks he should probably squirm away and be disgusted but he's not fourteen anymore and he's not fending anyone off with his hands.  
  
He's pulling them into him.


End file.
